The Truth Will Make You Free
by jayb1rd
Summary: The day had finally come. The girl was going to dance in the Labyrinth for the first time. *I present to you an epoch of the Labyrinth. What truths are we missing from just seeing the movie? Did Jim Henson tell us the whole story, or did he mask the truth? Does the truth set people free? Does forgiveness? Is life worth living after pain and sorrow take everything you have?
1. Chapter 1

She'd been cognizant of the event for years, but had never had the money for the travel expenses before. Now, she had moved to L.A., and nothing could stop her from going. She scrounged up all her change, and purchased a ticket. What she was going to wear was the real issue. Having spent the "spare change" in her budget, she couldn't splurge on anything fancy.

"That's all right. I'll just repurpose something." The girl had a habit of talking to herself. "Pshh! All geniuses have a running dialog with themselves. It's a sign of greatness based in madness. Heeee."

The girl was one of those artsy, music types with a penchant for vintage items. It didn't take long for inspiration to hit.

"Ding! If I can't wear the big, white cupcake, then I'll try a piece of white bread." Her quirkiness knew no bounds.

She began digging in through her moving boxes in her very unpacked apartment. The place was a bit of a wreck. The girl had been living in the studio for a month, and still hadn't put her little home together. The only thing relatively homey was the piano covered in her sheet music, compositions, and chord progressions. Everything else looked rather dull.

The girl pushed aside the boxes of children's instruments, CD's, 80's tapes, and music books. She needed that small box in the back corner. "You know. The one that was lighter than all the others, so _you_ brought it in first and then piled all the others around it. Sometimes, I don't understand my own logic."

She dragged the box across the floor and then pulled out a single item. **The Labyrinth**. The girl was quite proud of this particular item. It was, after all, the twenty-fifth anniversary edition; but even better, it was a steal! Six dollars! She popped the disc into her computer and studied the character she would portray. Yes, she had that and that and that and that. What she didn't have, she could make. Easy!

"Gonna look good! Gonna look great! Gonna be more than they can take," she sang to herself. "Now, to find all of it in this mess. I only have a week until Jareth's Ball."


	2. Chapter 2: People

She couldn't stop staring at herself. Weird... The girl had no idea she looked this much like anyone, let alone a movie character. True, the outfit and hair helped a lot, but still, she was just a little creeped out.

It had not been very hard to find the clothes she needed. She owned the skinny jeans, loafers, and poet's shirt. The hair clip had been difficult to find, but what was crazy was that she had one at all. The vest had been another matter entirely. It was next to impossible to find one, so she had bought a curtain panel and made the vest herself. "Strange to think that the only material anywhere close to similar was in the housewares department of Penney's."

The result was stupendous. The girl could pass for the fifteen year old Sarah on any day of the week. She knew this outfit was not going to garner the accolades of a hundred suitors, or even one; but she really could not care less.

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Walter Mendelssohn was a thin man, the kind of thin that just barely passed for healthy. He had a full head of muddy curls and alert, brown marbles were set deep in his gaunt face. As soon as he looked at you, you knew he was assessing your appearance, possible abilities, and how he could best exploit you. He did have a creative turn, without which he would not be in charge of this crazy ball; however, his creativity only went so far. "No one is going to see me in one of those outrageous get ups that the crazies wear. No sir!" Walt was intelligent; and he knew just how to use this crazy party to get ahead in L.A.

His assistant was another matter. He was the polar opposite of Walter Mendelssohn in every respect. Cahill Brahms was built like a baseball pitcher, had green eyes, and a shock of wavy black hair. He was ingenuous and sincere while still jovial and his very creative (Though, he had his practical side). He was going to wear a costume whether or not Walter thought he was a looney. As he said during his interview for the position, "I am so stoked for this. I can't wait to get started. How about we make the theme the actual Labyrinth?"

Mendelssohn knew just how to bridle Cahill's excessive creativity and make it work to his own advantage. It was quite nice to have someone around like Cahill Brahms, actually. It meant that Mendelssohn didn't have to sell his ideas as hard because Brahms was capable of building a wall of excitement around poop. He did like Brahms a great deal. Cahill was just a little too naive for this business. It was all up to Walt to make sure this weirdo carnival ran smoothly.

This was Cahill's first shot at the big time since he finished his MBA, and he loved it. It was amazing to be able to bridge his first degree in literature with his business degree. For, he quickly learned that a lit. degree was not going to bring home the money. He was more than surprised when he landed an interview with the prestigious party company and even more shocked when he landed the job, executive assistant to the planning administrator. Now he was planning the biggest fantasy party in L.A., and, boy, did he have plans. His older sister had been obsessed with a certain movie when they were kids, and he had seen it a million times. At first, he begged her not to pop it in the VCR; but as time went on, he began to love it. He just did. Some would consider it not so macho to love that particular movie, but he did. Now, Labyrinth was going to come to the Labyrinth of Jareth's Ball, and he, Cahill Brahms was the main idea factory.

Cahill looked at his watch. "It won't do to be late. Not for this guest." He rushed out of his office and down to the car port.

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Dear readers,

I have come to the conclusion that what I thought would be a short two chapter story is going to be a wee bit longer. I actually wrote an outline! This is big for me. I never do that. This chapter was obviously just background. Never fear! It's about to get fully awesome.

-the author

P.S. I cried while writing a key scene in a future chapter (also something I don't do often) . . . The good kind of cry. Hold onto your hats.


	3. Chapter 3: The Doppelgänger

Chapter 3: the Doppelgänger

"Is everything set Brahms?" Mendelssohn looked bored.

"Yes, it's all prepared. Our guest is in the back, and we've set up the booth."

"We don't have long to find her, you know. She has to be ready half way through the party."

"Good grief, Walt. I know. However, I'm not cutting corners on the only idea I had that wasn't remastered by the 'creative' team. We wait until the last minute. If we don't find the perfect one, the whole thing will go up in smoke."

"Have it your way." With that, Mendelssohn stalked off fully prepared to pick up the pieces when this plan shattered.

Hundreds of white ball gowns were lined up at the photo set up. A large sign read "Free Picture with the Goblin King for all Sarahs." There were several other costumes in the mix: fairies, goblins, pixies, and what have you. Cahill knew there would be a lot of Sarahs at the ball whether or not the theme was Labyrinth, but he had not expected this kind of turnout. It would take hours to sift through them all. Hours he did not have. "If I'm lucky, she'll show up within the next hour. If not, I can only wait an extra half hour."

Brahms started off for the proofing room to inspect the likelies; but before he made a full turn, he spotted her. She had just walked in the large, gate-like door. The girl was nothing fancy, no big, sugary dress and no wild hair. She just was. A simple poet's top, vest, and plain hair. She was perfect. Cahill catapulted off the balcony and toward the front doors.

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The girl was enjoying herself immensely. From the moment she handed over her ticket, to the second she saw the doors, to this moment and beyond, she was fascinated by the spectacle. There were performers on stage in gauzy costumes, twirling and contorting in time to ethereal music. Moss hung from the ceilings, faux brick walls, and was even lining the stage. Glitter was lightly dusted over every fixture in the room. There were booths with costumed workers hawking their wares, drinks, and victuals. She amusedly wondered if any of the sellers had a peach for sale. The girl looked to her left and saw a huge line of white gowns and big hair. "Good grief! What a bunch of unoriginal...Hahahahaheee! And look at yourself! You were going to do the exact, same thing. Only your extreme penury kept you from looking like a carbon copy. Still, what is going on over there?"

The girl stretched upward on her tiptoes. At five foot one, she could definitely not see over the crowds while standing en pointe. "'Desperate times,' as the say." With that, the girl scrambled up on a chair and then onto an Escher-like stair to nowhere. "What? A photo booth? Ridiculous. There are a billion Jareths around here. No need to wait in line to get a good picture. Hey, you," she bellowed at a particularly good lookalike as she darted down the stairs.

"Oof!" she rubbed her nose and looked up a bit dazedly. "I'm so sorry... I..." The girl stopped short. The man she bumped into was gorgeous. Tall, black hair, hazel eyes. Shoowee! He was even dressed in medieval, courtly attire. Complete with a lute slung across his back! It took all of her strength not to gasp at this Adonis, and there was no way she was able to keep her mind from gasping, chuckling, and turning somersaults simultaneously.

"It's quite all right. It was my fault after all."

His voice! Shoot. She had always been a sucker for a man with smooth sounding vocal folds. "No." _Oh, why did that sound suspiciously like a squeak?_ "I wasn't watching where I was going."

"I propose a truce. Would you like to dance?"

_Oh, this is definitely more important than finding a Goblin King._

Before the she could answer, the girl was being lead by a gentle hand onto the floor. The song was slow. "I should be honest with you. I sought you out."

She was baffled by this tidbit and raised questioning eyes to her mysterious partner.

"You couldn't have missed the large line of Sarahs. That isn't just for a free souvenir. The party board is looking for a Sarah lookalike for the main event. We purposefully didn't hire an impersonator. I decided it would be a more personal touch to have a member of the ball be our Sarah."

_We?_ She pondered that for a second before she realized to whom she was talking. "You are the party coordinator, then? Well, finding a party goer is an original idea. Have you found a Sarah yet," she asked tentatively, not daring to believe what he might say next.

"We have."

"Oh, that's good." Her countenance fell a bit.

"Would you like to come try on the costume?" He was guiding her to the edge of the floor.

"You mean ME? I'm astonied!"

"Does that mean you agree?" _He's chuckling at my verbiage._ She tried not to feel indignant.

"Umm...YES! Who wouldn't?" The girl was practically bouncing with enthusiasm now. Glowing, actually.

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The dressing room was flooded with thousands of kilowatts of light. "Good grief! I'm blind!" When her eyes adjusted to the glare, the girl saw something in the corner she knew couldn't be real. "You must be joking!"

"Surprised?"

"That is not the original." Her skepticism was more than a little palpable.

"Yes, it is. I'll send in wardrobe to help you get ready." Thus departed Cahill, man of her dreams. "He's perfect." _Did I say that out loud?_

The girl brushed her hand over the gossamer, embroidery, and jewels. The gown was more pearlescent under this light than she would have imagined possible for any fabric. "This can't be real; but if it is, SHUTUP!"

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Dear Readers,

Firstly, I'd like to inform you that I finally met someone named Jareth. It was the highlight of my rather interesting day teaching. With some "What's your favorite movie" probing and "Let me tell you what I watch" commands, I was able to learn that the little, blonde haired, blue-eyed! boy was most certainly named after a king. I asked him for whom he was named and he muttered, "The Goblin King." I almost felt sorry for him, but I couldn't because he has the coolest name EVAH!

I hope this has helped pick up some of the action for you. I have two more chapters completed that need some more editing, so expect something new in a week or so.

Do you like my concept of The Girl?

R&R. Tell me what you think. Feedback is greatly appreciated and needed.

Sincerely,

The Author


	4. Chapter 4: The Guest

I haven't written this yet, but it should go without saying. I do not own the Labyrinth or any of the characters that Jim Henson or Brian Froud created. All credit to them; though, I wish I could claim some of that originality. :)

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"How's the guest of honor?" Mendelssohn was a bit impatient tonight, and it showed.

"He's fine. Lazing in his chair until he HAS to put his costume on. He's starting to worry his waiting man with all this laid back, not-until-I'm-ready stuff."

"As long as he's on stage, I don't care."

"I know YOU don't, Walt; but I do. It was a Herculean task getting him here." Brahms was excited about the plan but decidedly annoyed with Walter for his seeming disinterest in it. More and more Cahill was beginning to feel that Mendelssohn wanted this project to fail.

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"Are you ready?" Cahill entered the dressing room and was shocked. The girl was radiant. Not only was she beautiful, but she looked precisely like Sarah Williams. If there ever was someone who could be Jennifer Connelly's stand-in, this was the girl for the job.

"I can't believe that I'm wearing this." She lightly brushed the folds of the pale gown and touched the jewels in her hair.

"The jewels aren't the originals. The owner wouldn't give us access to them, so we made replicas. Which reminds me. The hair pieces are yours to keep as a thank you."

"Seriously? If I were a little less contained, I might squeal."

"I don't think containment will be an option in a second. Come with me." He took the girl's arm and lead her into the green room. There were some overstuffed leather couches and chairs arranged around the room, mirrors on every wall, and…

"Water!" She ran to the water cooler in the corner and began pouring a conical cup of refreshing l'eau. The door opened, but the girl didn't really hear it over her gulping.

"I didn't know Jennifer was coming." The voice was rich and of a medium timbre. The girl looked into the mirror above the water dispenser and her mouth dropped. She knew that her unhinged jaw was scraping the floor, but there was no way it was going to close any time soon. With no other alternative, the girl turned around, disconnected jaw and all.

Cahill stepped in smoothly, "This is our Sarah for the evening. Ms. Connelly couldn't make it."

An eyebrow swept up at that. "Well, it's nice to meet you. I'm David."

"Bowie?" She couldn't keep it in. A high pitched, hum-like squeak escaped before she could remember to save what was left of her dignity.

"Told you there'd be no containment." Brahms chuckled a bit while David Bowie just shook his head and cringed a bit. " You have about fifteen minutes before curtain." With that Cahill left a very shocked girl with a rock star.

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"Is this your first time on stage?" Obviously, the girl was nervous.

"No. It's not, but it **is** my first time on stage with a rock star." Her voice was starting to lose its tremor. "What made you agree to make an appearance here . . . in full costume?" _Come to think of it, what made me agree? . . . Wait. He's in full costume! Hehehehee! I'm here with nothing less than a living legend in full goblin regalia. I think I'll call him Goblin Bowie. Bwahahaa!_

"I suppose that means you don't believe I did this out of the goodness of my heart and a love for the Goblin King." David's voice was tinged with sarcasm, and a cynical smile touched the corners of his mouth. "The committee has been after me to do this for years. My publicist finally relented this year. He and I believe that it is a gesture that will create a better public image." His tone baffled her. She had watched the Labyrinth documentaries; and from what she could tell, Bowie had liked his role and the movie.

"But, the public loves you anyway," she replied in a childlike voice.

"So, my wife said; but if I don't keep up my image, I will be forgotten."

"Well, I don't think you'll be forgotten any time soon. I certainly won't ever forget you."

"Were you even alive when I was most active?"

_Seriously! Why does everyone think I'm twelve?!_ She blushed a bit and replied with a little indignation but definitely more humiliation. "I was born in the late 80's if that's what you want to know, and I do remember your music being played all the time."

"Sorry about that. It's rather bad form to ask a lady her age no matter how young she is." He seemed apologetic enough.

"No apology needed," the girl relented. "I understand why you were curious. I look pretty young."

"Young? You look like a teenager. What do you do for a living?" Bowie took to one of the lush couches, lounging as if his costume was of no consequence.

"I just moved here to take my career to the next level. I'm a singer."

"Indeed. What genre?" his voice had become slightly long suffering, but he was certainly curious.

"Opera, jazz, broadway. I like to mix it up, but I need to settle on one for marketing purposes."

"So, you cross genres, but you are right in assuming you need to choose one. Your audience needs to be specific at first. Once you lay a strong foundation, you can begin to do different things."

_Finally! The paternal instincts all older men have make their appearance. Though, he looks _**_anything_**_ but his age. Good grief! he could still be in his late forties-early fifties if I didn't know any better._

"I'm working on it now. My problem is that I know opera isn't as popular with the crowds as jazz or broadway, but it's what I love and feel challenges me the most."

"If you love it, then your passion will be your stepping stone instead of the popularity of the music. I happen to love opera." He was matter of fact, no apologies or embarrassment. "Would you mind singing a bit for me?"

"What would you like to hear?" Now the girl was more than nervous. She could feel tremors in her stomach.

"Sing an excerpt from each of your favorite genres."

She thought for a few moments. Her mind was completely blank for any scrap of musical literature. Then, from the dark recesses of her trembling mind, a small glimmer of Czech emerged. "Mesicku na nebi hlubokem." She was surprised by the clarity of her voice and the ease as she delivered the last words, "At'se tou vzpominkou vzbudi! Mesicku, nezhasni, nezhasni!" She had never connected with the Czech little mermaid in such a way. Tonight, the plea to the moon to find and guide the mermaid's lover back to her was especially poignant. The girl didn't know why, but a solitary tear trickled out of the corner of her eye as she sang the last plea for the moon to keep shining.

"Excellent choice. That particular aria is a great favorite of mine. I've never heard it performed with such conviction before." She couldn't be sure, but the girl thought the rockstar's voice caught a bit as he spoke. His face was stony and his posture had become ridged. The girl decided it would be best not to ask about the change in his demeanor.

"Sometimes I feel like a motherless child." Her belting was spot on, better than she had hoped; but she didn't know what had induced her to choose this song. _I know hundreds of jazz ballads. Why choose a spiritual?_ As she wrapped up the first verse, she again noticed David's visage. _Are those tears?_ In a flash, the tender look was gone, and the pleasant fellow was before her again. "Should I sing another?"

"Actually, it's about time to head to curtain. Your voice is very unique. Few people can sing an aria and turn around and belt a spiritual like they truly have no home." He was clearly trying to be elusive with his praise.

"Thank you, sir." The short walk was passed in silence. The girl had expected some fatherly advice, at least, and was taken aback by Bowie's complete passivity. _Perhaps, I don't have what it takes. Passion, sure. Uniqueness, yes. But, ability? Not likely. No wonder he's so quiet. I guess he's being kind, but I'd rather know if I'm no good . . . On the up side, I just sang for DAVID BOWIE. Check that off my bucket list. Woot, woot!_

When they reached the wings, the girl was quite downcast; but her blood was beginning to pump with performance adrenaline in spite of her gloom.

"One moment, sir!" Bowie had taken a rather determined looking Brahms by surprise. "I have an amendment to my contract."

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Sorry if it got a bit slow. I liked it. Just remember all this. You'll be sorry if you don't.

A quick rundown of characters:

David Bowie: We ALL know who he is. :)

Cahill Brahms: All around good guy

Walter Mendehlsson: Easily annoyed and overtly calculating

The Girl: Quirky, sweet, a bit naive, not stupid

"Song to the Moon" or "Měsíčku na nebi hlubokém" was written by Antonín Dvořák. I highly recommend you listen to it. Look up Lucia Popp or Renee Flemming's rendition. If you prefer to not hear it sung, Joshua Bell gives his own interpretation on the violin.

This is my personal translation of the Czeck: "Silver moon in the deep sky, your light sees far and wanders through the wide world. You see into people's homes. Moon, wait a moment and tell me where my love is. Tell him, silver moon, of me waiting to enfold him in my arms, so that he, at least, may fleetingly dream of me. Guide his path. Tell him I am waiting. Human soul, if you dream of me, wake at the memory! Oh moon, do not wane!"


	5. Chapter 5: The Performance

**"One moment, sir!" Bowie had taken a rather determined looking Brahms by surprise. "I have an amendment to my contract."**

…..

"Right now? But, Mr. Bowie, you're due on stage in two minutes." The urgency in Cahill's voice wasn't lost on Bowie.

"The solo is now a duet." The girl's eyes went huge. She could only hope for what was coming next.

"And, with whom will you be singing?" Cahill seemed confused and consternated.

"This young lady. It'll be a smash. Oh, that must be our cue."

Before Brahm's could reply, Bowie pulled the girl away. As they walked to their positions he whispered in her ear, "Just follow my lead."

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"Fairies and gnomes, goblins and beasts, may I present the **Goblin King**?"

The crowd's roar erupted from above the pair. _It feels like the holding cells below the Colosseum. _The girl's nervous energy felt like it was about to rip her brain to shreds._ So dark and creepy! _The only light the girl could see came from a small monitor playing the stage action: A fog machine spewed its product on the stage and a silhouetted girl in a poofy gown searched through the mist while a thin man's silhouette evaded her. Then, the two silhouettes receded into the fog.

As the screen went black, the girl felt a tremor beneath her. _What is that? Oh my! Don't latch on to him! You're a big girl and can maintain your composure and balance. _The screams were deafening as the platform raised the pair through the trap door to center stage. The shrieking only got worse when they were fully on stage. It was all the girl could do to keep from raising her hands to her ears. She glanced around and noticed a full 80's rock band upstage, fog billowing from several machines in the wings, and drippy, crystalline chandeliers descending into place. Through her earpiece, she could hear the introduction to the familiar ballad coming to a close. She knew what was coming next.

"There's such a sad love deep in your eyes..." The women in the audience realized just who was on stage when that voice floated out of the speakers. "David Bowiiiiiieeeee!"

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Backstage in his stuffy, little office, Walter rubbed his hands together with glee. As he paced, he propped the door open for some much needed air.

"I can't believe it! He's on stage, in his costume, and performing his role to the hilt! This will look good for me in the office tomorrow."

Walter was planning his rise to the top of the party industry with this fabulous contrivance of a performance as his basis. It mattered not that it was not Walt's idea to bring Bowie in or choose a partygoer to play Sarah. All that mattered was that Walt was the acting boss for this party. All of his assistant's ideas effectively belonged to him.

"And what a great choice that Cahill has been. He'll continue to supply me ideas until I get tired of him. . . or reach the top. All I need to do is keep him under my thumb until that time."

While Walter monologued, Cahill walked by the open door.

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"Good thing my ego doesn't bruise easily," Cahill mused out loud. "I suppose I could file for a new position within the company, but I'll consider that tomorrow. Right now the issue is who this fellow is. I was assured by Bowie's official agent that David Bowie would be here in the flesh, but this can't be him. His voice is too young. I know Bowie's work backward and forward, and I especially know his music for the Labyrinth. There's no way that's him singing, and I didn't authorize a recording to be used. Not to mention, a recorded voice would be absurd next to another singer's live performance. No, he wouldn't dub his voice for a duet.

"The real question is 'Who is he?' I can't say I like Bowie sending a stand-in; but a stand-in sending himself would be worse. What if Bowie is still at the airport?! I definitely don't think that poor girl is entirely safe if I don't know with _whom_ she is dancing. He could be one of those psycho, wedding chapel impersonators."

With these thoughts plaguing him, Cahill Brahms headed to stage to get to the bottom of the matter.

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Though the voice brought recognition to the masses, the girl was taken aback.

_Something is not right. His voice is too rich and smooth. A seventy-ish rockstar's vocals should be more harsh and have less range. This voice is as rich as the day the song was first recorded. . . Pull yourself together! Focus on the task at hand, not on the mob trying to scale the stage or on the smoothness of his voice. It _**_is_**_ David Bowie, after all._

She looked at David. His face betrayed none of the loathing she expected. Instead, he was thoroughly enjoying the onslaught of hormonal adoration. Little did she know that, while she was observing him, her face was a study of rapt awe and wonder.

When he turned his gaze upon her, Goblin Bowie gave her a slight nod and a pointed look. The girl took a deep breath, "There's such a fooled heart beating so fast..."

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The girl opened her mouth and the crowd stopped rampaging and yelling his name, standing in rapt attention. _Strange. That doesn't happen often._ Bowie, of course, had listened to the girl sing backstage; but he was still surprised. This was a completely different genre than the three she listed, but she may as well have been a rock singer for her ability to change vocal coats. Bowie opened his ears to her again.

_It might be worth the risk. Her voice is fabulous. Golden, actually. I expected her to do well; but, honestly, the crowd is flabbergasted. The girl certainly knows how to mesmerize; and her pitch is so accurate and her tone so warm, she straddles the line of musical realities. It's time to get her somewhere where she can do some good with her instrument._

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The silence gave way to wild abandon as men and women began pairing off to follow the lead of the singing couple on stage. As they twirled around the stage, girl looked directly at Bowie's face while the guitar wailed its solo. She was not prepared for the intense look of scrutiny he was giving her. The harsh scrutiny turned to resolute decision. _Don't know if I like that look. He's starting to give me the heebie-jeebies._

When the last verse and chorus were sung and they both embellished in turn, the crowd went insane, the dancing stopped, and the girl knew that this was a moment to document for the ages. The last chord faded, and with it went the moment of euphoria.

Something inside the girl was screaming danger while something else was awestruck and curious. Still encircled in his arms she looked up at him. "Who are you, sir?" Her voice was steady and probing. The masses turned their attention back to the stage, waiting for the happy ending.

Goblin Bowie bent his head to her ear, and in a low voice intoned, "Who do you think, little one?"

As the cheers of approval crescendoed, Bowie took notice of them again, gave a courtly bow to his audience, grabbed the girl's hand, and promptly disappeared.

….…..

Now we're into it. Stick around. It only gets better. ;)

Alexandrea Keating: Thanks for the feedback. I'm working on the setting thing. It's not my strong suit. I wasn't going to "think" from anyone else's p.o.v. save the girl's. But, your suggestion made me seriously consider being an omniscient storyteller. So, I went for it. :)

Thanks to Kay104 for the shout out in her last chapter. I love Duty Bound, by the bye.


	6. Chapter 6: The Disappearance

"What the? I didn't know that we had the capabilities for that. How did Cahill rig it? That's fantastic! Those crazies will be talking about this for weeks. Business will be wonderful this quarter, and the boss will credit me with it all." Mendelssohn had left his grubby, little office back stage and moved his pacing (and muttering) to the catwalk high above the merriment below. The revelers beneath him were all agog, reeling from a fabulous performance and a spectacular magic trick. The fog was still wisping around the stage, the last of its tendrils curling out onto the dance floor below. A few romantic couples were swaying together on the relatively quiet dance floor, but the majority of the partners were frozen in amazement. "The only explanation is that Cahill went behind my back and hired a magician, but a trick on that scale, with full band in the background of the illusion, would require someone of David Copperfield proportions. Anyway, I'll let it slide for now, but if I find that this put us over budget, I'll kill 'im."

The catwalks were poorly lit, and Walter was having a difficult time navigating them. He really had never liked heights. Oh, he wasn't afraid: he just felt a little pit in his stomach whenever he got too close to the edge of any raised place. What made these ceiling-bridges different was the fact that all the walks were painted black, the ceiling was black, and looking forward, all he saw was black. There was a type of dim lighting, but it did nothing to ease his nerves. He was only up there to see the end of the song.

When he reached the ladder at the end of the catwalk, Walt nearly jumped over the railing as a pair of distracted eyes popped up from the ladder.

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Cahill was officially afraid. The voice threw him off and sent his head into prepare-for-problems mode. But, a complete disappearance ON STAGE?! He had expected them to disappear THROUGH the trap door, but that obviously wasn't what happened here. The pair had just vanished. This strange singer was there one moment and simply wasn't there the next, and even worse, he'd taken the girl with him.

_She seemed so impressionable. I bet she's scared silly._ As he mulled all this over, Brahms dashed to the dressing rooms. "If she's anywhere, the girl will be in there changing out of that heavy gown."

He opened the door. Darkness. Cahill inched into the inky blackness and searched for the light. As his hand slid over the switch, the dressing table light momentarily blinded him. He allowed his eyes to adjust only long enough to register the empty vanity chair, the empty couch, and the folded dressing screen.

He bolted from her room to Bowie's. No one greeted him. All that was in the room were the bowl of green Skittles and the soda fountain.

The green room yielded similar fruits. He ran back to stage and began his search for Walt. If Walt hadn't already been informed, it was Cahill's duty to do so.

Walt's office was empty. Cahill had no clue where to look for him because the office was the only place Walt didn't absolutely refuse to inhabit. Walt always wanted to look in control, and he was convinced that dingy office made him appear in charge of things. Cahill was at a loss. He stood perfectly still, racking his brain for a solution. "Genius!"

He bolted off, continuing his marathon. He passed stage hands who were milling about, waiting for next act. He hardly noticed the band members meandering off the stage as he put his right foot on the first rung of the ladder. He climbed like one possessed. He had one goal, find Walt so they could begin searching for the girl. The catwalk would allow him to survey the crowd and play a strange, real life version of "Where's Waldo" for Walter and the girl. As he neared the edge of catwalk, he could hear the somewhat tentative footsteps headed his way. He had just popped his head up to level with the catwalk's floor when he saw a familiar, if somewhat petrified face.

"Walter, thank goodness. Did you see?" Though he had just taken a seventy foot, vertical ladder at an alarming pace, Cahill's breathlessness was not from exhaustion but from worry. Mendelssohn didn't seem to notice.

"Yes, I did. How'd you pull that off, and how much did it set us back?" Walter erased his alarm and plastered businesslike calm on his thin features.

Cahill was taken aback by his response. "Do you honestly think that I did something that huge without clearance? Even if we had the funds, I wouldn't have attempted it in the space. There's simply not enough room on stage for all the equipment needed."

"Are you saying that they're gone?" Walter's voice went up a decibel. "Along with their wardrobes?"

"What do the wardrobes have to do with anything? We've got a missing girl to worry about, and a missing superstar."

"Those costumes, more specifically, that dress, are worth more than your entire payment for this job. If we lose those get-ups we lose our jobs. Actually, you lose yours," Brahms added with a sneer. "It was, after all, your idea to use original costumes, the original singer, and choose an unknown girl."

"All that aside, the girl is missing. We will have some severe, in-depth inquiries if we have a missing person on our hands. Our first priority is to find the girl and Bowie."

"Oh, I never said we wouldn't look for her, but I'm not worried about her well-being. I'm worried about how large her bank account is about to get."

"What are you insinuating, Mendelssohn?"

"Only that the girl estimated her gown to be worth enough to risk theft or that this wasn't as impromptu a choice as it seemed." Walter's eyelids had narrowed into slits; and, in the dark, his beady eyes seemed to flame.

"That's ludicrous. How could I possibly have known her? I just met the girl tonight."

Mendelssohn assessed his shocked assistant. He knew Brahms was seething with righteous anger. He also knew, his go-to man was neither thief nor conspirator and that the allegations had no real standing. All Walter cared about was if the accusations would be intimidating enough to corner Cahill into complete compliance. Also, his suspicions would sound good in an initial investigation if one had to be launched: all very helpful for keeping police off of Walter's own back.

"Ludicrous, maybe, but not unfathomable to the police or a jury," Walter said smoothly. "You want to find the girl and so do I. We have different motives, certainly, but we do have the same goal. Find the girl."

"Don't forget Bowie." Brahms was reaching his breaking point. What he needed was to go to bed, but it did not look like that was happening anytime soon. "I don't think that was really him on stage."

"Of course, it was. Sounded just like him. Looked just like him. Swaggered just like him. The question is why he would make off with the girl. I mean she is beautiful, but his wife is a supermodel."

"I'm telling you it wasn't Bowie. His voice was too smooth. It sounded like he was still in the prime of his career and not nearly seventy."

"I didn't hear anything unusual."

"If you knew his work the way I do, you would have noticed the difference. Not to mention, at certain times on stage I would look at him and his appearance would shift. He went from looking like a well-preserved specimen to a man in his late thirties. It made no sense and freaked me out." The shiver Cahill emitted was not for show.

"So, we have an impostor on our hands it would seem." Walter brought his hands up into his habitual, steepled fingers pose, index fingers resting on his lips. "At least, he's starting to calm down. Maybe, I'll get less accusations thrown at me now."

Cahill didn't have much more time to contemplate his boss's mood. As he observed his superior, Brahms saw a look of firm determination settle on Walter's gaunt features. "Which one are you going to hunt, Cahill?" It wasn't a request, more like a quiet command that bore with it all the certainty of obedience.

"I'll search for the girl, Walt. She's probably terrified."

"You still think she's the victim. Do you?"

"Always the cynic, Walter. What else could she be? Only you, the board of directors, and I knew about the party plans. No one else could have known. Even our supposed Bowie thought Jennifer Connelly was going to be on stage. In my opinion, she's a victim of a crazed impersonator trying to get his name out there."

"Have it your way, Cahill. Just be sure to remember that the dress is just as important to your career as the girl is to your social life."

This time, Cahill's eyes were the ones to light up with passion. "At least, you acknowledge that an innocent girl's kidnapping is a problem. To talk to you, Mr. Mendelssohn, one would think you cared for nothing but your own hide."

"You're right. That's all that matters in the business." He began to move toward the ladder again. "I only do what is necessary to preserve my career and elevate myself." He began to climb down. "If you want to survive, Cahill," Walt called as his head sank below the catwalk, "you'd better learn to do the same."

Left alone in the blackness of the catwalk, Cahill stared at the partygoers below. He gripped the railing as he bent over and breathed deeply. It had become his habit whenever Walter got under his skin to take a few moments to breathe.

_My first responsibility is to the girl. I roped her into this crazy scheme. I'm the reason she was taken and the reason she is being blamed for theft. _He released a heavy sigh then straightened. Purposefully, Cahill took to the ladder to begin his search for the girl.

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The tiny street was dingy and full of unwanted cars and refuse. The apartment building edged the street so tightly that even a non-claustrophobe would be nervous. The missing bricks and cracks in the façade told a story of misuse and mistrust. Weeds popped out of the concrete, searching for the sun, but they found precious little due to the smog. A pair of twinkling, black eyes peered out of a barred window, and something sinister moved in the shadows.

Mendelssohn didn't know why he had come here. He had already gone above and beyond his duty by searching for and finding David Bowie, the real David Bowie. "That fool, Cahill, couldn't even get Bowie's secretary on the phone. His office said they had never received a phone call concerning the party. Ridiculous. Now, we have to track down some weirdo who dresses like a freak for fun. And, here I am, in the seediest part of town, looking for that silly girl."

As he climbed up the stairs, Walter noticed that there were less frequent displays of graffiti. He was quite winded by the time he reached the seventh floor. An amber glow shone down on a sweet doormat, the kind with swirls and wise sayings. This one, however, said, "Goblin Kings Preferred, Musicians OK."

"Oh, brother."

Mendelssohn tried the knob. Locked. He would have knocked, but from the look of the darkened window, the girl was not at home. He peered inside and saw a mound of boxes in the corner, a piano, and a single chair. "Obviously, if she lived here, she had next to nothing. That's as a good a motive for theft as any."

He turned away, fully satisfied that he had done his due by Bowie and the girl. Now, it was riding on Cahill to find the little flibbertigibbet and the gown.

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Against Mendelssohn's protestations, Brahms decided to approach the search differently. Instead of going to the mundane places (hotels, apartments, workplace), he chose to go where it seemed most likely the girl would be. He had all ready combed the local parks where the street performers jammed; he had gone to all the coffee houses with live music within a five-mile radius; and he had gone to the city's opera house. That night, he had tickets to a much smaller opera company's production of The Magic Flute.

A small, vaudevillian theater greeted him as he parked his car. Art deco trim adorned every facet of the building. He was fascinated by the geometrical designs. _Got to keep this place in mind for a future client. _A large skyscape painted the ceiling and seeped down the upper walls creating a period, city mural that encompassed the upper half of the walls and entire ceiling. He didn't know L.A. still boasted such architectural relics. The hard marble receded into plush, scarlet carpet complete with golden runners along the walls.

As thoroughly impressed as Cahill was with the foyer, he was just as equally unimpressed with the auditorium. The once thick cushions of the seats were now caved in from years of use, the upholstery torn, and stuffing poking out. Curtains, molding, carpet, all decimated by former theater lovers. The only thing not cracked, peeling, or irreversibly worn was the massive frontispiece mounted above the stage.

_I'd be surprised if the girl didn't love this place. The front is lovely and the inside well-worn, nothing replaced._ He allowed his mind to wander throughout the overture, trio, and Papageno's first aria. _This isn't really my thing; but I bought the ticket, so I may as well pay attention._

He looked at the translation projected on a screen downstage, right.

"This image is enchantingly lovely,  
Like no eye has ever beheld!"

_I sympathize with you, buddy. My absent lady is lovely, too._

"Oh, if only I could find her,  
If only she were standing before me..."

_That would make life a lot easier._ His mouth tipped upward in a half-smile.

"I would, I would, with warmth and honor ...  
What would I do?"

_Exactly. Couldn't have said it better myself. What_**_ would_**_I do?_

An odd chill gripped Cahill's left arm, and he turned his head slightly to see what the man next to him could be doing. The body next to Cahill Brahms blurred and flickered from a man's visage to a woman's. The figure solidified briefly, looked directly at Brahms, and her eyes widened.

"Help me," she whispered before vanishing just as completely as she had on stage.

Cahill bottled the scream that clawed at his throat. _Men don't scream._ He remained seated for the rest of the program. _Maybe she'll reappear._

She didn't.

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Dear anyone who read this chapter,

Not much of the girl and no Jareth. Sorry, but it had to be done. Next chapter we'll see and hear both of them.

-The Author


	7. Chapter 7: The Liar

This took me way longer than it should have. Christmas was pretty hectic. I'm a Christian, so there was a lot to do, not to mention having seven nieces and nephews under the age of 10 running around. Needless to say, I just started writing this weekend. Hope this chapter is a good one for you.

_Italics means the girl's thoughts._

_**Bold italics means Jareth's**_** thoughts.**

I do not own the Labyrinth or any of its characters. All those belong to Froud and Henson.

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_A week. I've been here for a week. _

The girl paced the plush, navy carpet of her cavernous bedroom. _Thank goodness this silver and blue prison is so big! Pacing can get so boring at home and one can get rather sick when walking a small apartment._

The room was actually quite lovely with its enormous, low, platform bed set into a raised terrace of polished and carved mahogany. The bedding and curtains were of varying hues of blues and grays with splashes of silver. A large fire danced in the fireplace, causing its stone faces of celestial myths and legends to smile and frown in turn. The ceiling was an exact replica of the night sky with the constellations outlined. When the firelight caught the silver inlay of the stars, the ceiling lit up with an ethereal glow and danced to life. The dazzling effect was all encompassing until one noticed the moon. The moon, a giant orb off set to be above the bed, gently glowed directly upon the mahogany carvings of the terrace. The carvings were neither scenery nor portraiture, but _words_, stories, actually, of each constellation's naming or rise to honor. But, the most amazing thing about her bower was its ability to change its clothing for the new day. With the rising of the sun, all of the upholstery, trimmings, and fabric changed to reflect that of the current season. As the Labyrinth was in its autumn phase, the girl would awaken to a room of cheerful reds, oranges, yellows, dark greens, soft browns, and golds. The ceiling always awoke with a soft, happy sun, which never seemed to wake the girl up before she was ready. As the day would wax on, the other two suns would rise and dim, but the first sun always remained in the same place, over the bed. The fireplace figures changed their forms to become fauns, dryads, fairies, and the like upon the morning. Lastly, the mahogany stories changed to those of the greatest joys and sorrows of the sun, the happiest dances of the fauns, Apollo's love for Clytie, and the fairy ring dance of the first Fairy Queen.

_What to do? I must go home, but I don't think I'll be able to persuade His Majesty to magic me back. It's time to do some labyrinthian research. Surely, there's a library in this crazy place. And, if a library, then good books. If good books, then some relief from boredom. Relief equals inspiration, and inspiration equals MUSIC! … Oh, yeah. It's all common' together. Hehehehehee!_

The mahogany doors trembled at the girl's approach but did not resist her exit. _Funny, considering my last private outing._

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Two days prior.

_I've been here for five days and still have not been outside. In fact, I've hardly been permitted into most of the rooms I've tried to enter. What is HE hiding? Of what is he afraid?_

It was true that the girl had not been restricted to her room. The king had been generous and told her the places that would be the safest for to go to alone, but he had said nothing about permissions needed to enter a room outside of his suggested perimeters.

Her bedroom's mahogany doors yielded easily enough to the steady pressure of her hands. She did find it odd that none of the doors in the castle had knobs. If they had anything of the sort, the doors had knockers alone. She tried the first doors near her own again, pushing inward. Nothing. Obviously, this hallway was not going to let her see anything.

The girl wandered the corridors looking for an interesting portal. All the doors were fabulously and intricately carved, but none opened to her touch. After what seemed like an hour of meandering around the palace halls, she had to admit that she was hopelessly lost. _Aboveground I always innately knew north, south, east, and west. But, here everything is mixed up. There is no absolute direction in this crazy place. _

She was just about to retrace her steps when she spotted a door unlike the others. This door was of the same carving caliber, but the pictures were different from the rest, but a sweet familiarity swelled within her. A small faun played a flute in the upper corner while a dryad strummed a harp in the corner diagonal. Two figures danced on the center of the door, but both figures mouths were wide open and their eyes shut. _They are singing! That is the look of complete musical abandon._ The girl KNEW that this door would open.

She touched the two figures reverently and jumped back in surprise. The pair had moved! They were swirling together, lips mouthing ancient lyrics that only they could hear. The faun and dryad were languidly playing their instruments as the duet became more ecstatic. As suddenly as it began, the door opened and the spectacle ceased.

_The rooms I've been admitted to have not made me feel as at home as this one._

Soft light shone from behind silvery drapes that hung around the perimeter of the room. Chandeliers dotted the room, both standing and hanging, some of crystal, some of silver, and some of a material the girl could not identify beyond the thought "Gemstones?" Seating was rather sparse in the room. There were chairs in the far corner that were arranged in orchestral pattern. There was even a conductor's platform. The ceiling was filigreed with fine, hammered silver that wound around portraits of some of the fairest people the girl had ever seen, all blonde, lithe, and achingly lovely. She had no time to consider the people above her head, though; for in the center of the vast, marble dance floor a ten-foot, grand piano claimed all her attention. Immediately, she knew this was not a Boesendorfer or Steinway. This piano was purely an Underground creation.

A single tear escaped and trailed down her face unheeded. One word. _Home._

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The Goblin King smiled to himself as he watched the girl make her way to his favorite instrument. He knew she was lonely just as he was. He knew she needed music just as he did. And, he hoped she would be able to find solace in her art.

He peered into the crystal again when he heard the soft strains of melody. The tears had begun in earnest now. She was weeping as she played Beethoven's famous "Moonlight Sonata." Her foot slipped from the sustain pedal with a loud, echoing thunk.

**_She is breaking._** This thought was not a pleasant one to Jareth. He chose this girl because she was unbroken and buoyant. All would be lost if she allowed herself to slip into the void.

He crushed the crystal in his fist and stepped through the wall of his study into the music hall across the castle.

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**_Worse than I thought._**When Jareth arrived, the girl was bowed so low over the keys that her forehead was resting on them. Her hands gripped the bench so hard that they were turning a deep crimson. He could not see her expression as her hair had fallen like a thick curtain about her face.

"What can I do? The music is gone." The girl's whispered confession surprised the king. He had thought he was unnoticed as of yet.

It was hard for Jareth to feel pity, for he never liked the thought of people pitying him; but he did feel a flash of empathy. He, too, had lost his music long ago.

"You must give it some time, my dear. This, too, shall pass." Cold. He sounded cold, even to his own ears. **_Mother always said that my best attempts at comfort were no better than patting an invalid with a broom._**

The girl lifted her head from the keys, but her face remained shadowed by her hair as she turned her head toward him. "Why did you bring me here?" The words were fury laced with anguish and a strange touch of curiosity. **_Those eyes. I know those eyes. Cruel, flashing, pained._**

"I brought you here as a bit of a joke, my dear child." A touch of humor lit his eyes as he remembered his original scheme.

"You what?! I'm a joke?" Her eyes flamed unbridled fury, though she still wept like her heart would break.

**_This probably isn't the best time or place and that likely wasn't the best way to tell her that. Actually, I probably should have just lied._**He sighed inwardly. **_Best to get it out of the way now, and hope she understands._**

"If all I am is the punch line for one of your oh-so-funny, goblin-esque jokes, I hope you had a good laugh at my expense. Now, please, return me to my home."

**_It is clear that she is trying to save her dignity now. Let's see what can be done about that._** "I'm sorry, my girl; but that is not an option." **_Fuming. I'd definitely say that she is fuming._** "I did not phrase myself adequately. You see, you are not the joke in this circumstance. An old friend of mine had to be put in his place."

"So, you took me, a complete stranger, in order to play a prank?" **_And, that would be exasperation._** "Sorry, Goblin King. I'm not buyin'."

"I suppose that means you want a fuller explanation." The King assumed his most dramatic and authoritative stance. **_I do not want her to try to argue the point with me, after all._** "Prepare your Aboveground fantasies for the truth, then."

"I wait with baited breath, Your Majesty."

"Henson lied."

"What?" The girl pushed her hair back and revealed a red, puffy face streaked with tear tracks.

**_Thank goodness something made her stop. I half expected the truth to make her blub even more._** "James of the House of Henson lied to everyone in your world. He painted a ridiculous picture of me and my kingdom." The king began to pace around the instrument.

"You mean, Jim Henson actually visited the Labyrinth?"

"Yes, and his scribbling friend…Fowl? Frowl? Frake?"

"Froud? Brian Froud, too?"

"Yes, exactly. Froud stumbled through a soft spot in the fabric that separates Above and Below. I allowed him to ramble through my realm for a time. I confronted him when I noticed him drawing pictures of some of the creatures. I know what they do to oddities Above. Put them on display like prisoners and freaks. He said that he did not intend to return and that his drawings were just to help support his family. I let him go in good faith and hoped that he was telling the truth. He wasn't."

"He told Jim Henson about the soft spot, didn't he?"

"Wipe your eyes, girl. I can't have you looking at me like that." Jareth produced a beautifully embroidered silk handkerchief with gold edging and handed it to the girl.

"Thank you."

"You are indeed correct. Henson came through merely a week later. When he did, I wasn't so lenient. I confronted him the moment I felt a shift in my kingdom. He also said that he had not come to steal or kidnap. He just wanted to observe, learn. 'I tell stories Above and hope to glean good ones from your world,' was his argument. I allowed James to roam as he pleased. I kept nothing from him save certain rooms in my house."

"I'm guessing that he had an insatiable curiosity." The girl's tone was flat.

With an upturned mouth, "Yes, like someone else I know. May I proceed?" She nodded stiffly. "Very well. He visited on several occasions. As you can imagine, one does not explore my realm completely in a single day, or even a year. Each time he passed through, I greeted him and saw him off. Eventually, these formal meetings grew into long talks."

"You became friends with him."

"I am the one spinning this tale, and only I know it." **_Is she snickering at me?_** "Madame, I would request that you stop that this instant."

"I'm sorry, but you sounded so upset. Rather like a child." **_She continues to snicker? Child!_**

"I am the King of the Goblins, Lord of the Labyrinth, and numerous other titles. You dare call me a child!" The soft glow of the room had grown darker until there was practically no light at all. The only light was the painful red radiating off the king's person.

"Now, you're throwing a tantrum. Calm down already. I'm sorry I laughed and called you a child. Finish the story. I'll try to be quiet."

He ruminated for a few more seconds before suddenly regaining his composure. The lights brightened and his personal light dissipated. "Most people cower before me."

"I, sir, will not." **_There it is again. The flash of her eyes. Green fire!_**

"As I was saying, James and I developed a friendly rapport. He dropped in whenever he felt like it, and if I had time, I would join him in his exploration. He often came to simply explore the palace. On those occasions, we would settle back, after he had wandered around, and I would tell him a story or two to add to his collection."

The girl raised her hand. **_What is that supposed to mean? Is her arm troubling her?_** **_I suppose I need to find out what's wrong. _**"Why are you holding your hand in that fashion?"

"You mean "raising" it? In the schools Above we raise our hand in order to gain permission to ask a question. May I ask a question?"

"Very well. If you must." His sigh was a little too loud.

"Was the Labyrinth lush when Henson came, or was it dead? You took me outside two days ago but did not answer my questions. What happened? Why is it dead?"

"It was dead when Henson came." The admission was slow to come and stung his throat.

"There are no fairies, no goblins, no monsters. There isn't any glitter. All the plant life is shriveled and dry."

"I told you Henson lied." He slammed the top of the piano with his fist. "I just didn't tell you how completely his silver tongue forged his fiction." He stood in the crook of the piano, gripping the lowered lid, arms outstretched and head bowed. He breathed deeply for a moment and them turned his head to look at the girl.

When he spoke, his voice was deep and husky from a sorrow the girl had never known and could not understand. "Many years ago, someone came to the Labyrinth and crushed its soul."

The air hung heavy around the pair. The girl struggled with her feelings of entrapment for herself and pity for the king. The king struggled with rage.

"Was it her," she asked in as small a voice as she could manage.

"No." **_Shall I tell her? Do I dare?_** Jareth considered his options and the best words before he spoke again. "It was my mother."

"Wanna run that by me again?" Her eyes were the size of saucers. **_The fire is gone._**

"Before she married him, my mother decided to take my father down a few pegs. I can only assume it was to let him know she had other options. He proposed the day after he ascended the throne and took ownership of the Labyrinth, and she told him 'no'. He loved her so dearly that his heart broke. The Labyrinth hasn't been green since."

"But, she said 'yes" eventually. Why didn't it recover?"

"I don't know." He turned away quickly so as not to let her read him. **_I am not a book or painting to be looked upon and understood._**

"Did you tell Henson that story?"

"Yes. If he was going to write and tell stories of my land, I wanted him to know something of its history."

"And, you wanted him to know something about you. So, basically, Henson twisted your parents story and retold it with you as your father. Is that what you're saying?"

"Yes. The events of last week were to tell Henson that if he wanted me to be a villain, I could certainly oblige. He knows that he's obligated to run the Labyrinth."

"That may be a bit of a problem, Goblin King." A fresh tear fell and her voice began to rise in pitch. "Jim Henson is dead. There is no one for you to play villain for but me." She shuttered and whispered, "I am truly forgotten."

**_Dead? _**In the depths of his petrified heart, a searing knife, long ago imbedded in the center, twisted. His sorrow, begun and completed many years before, was now brought back to the surface by the loss of his friend. **_I must be as strong as ever._** He still had hope.

The king drew in a ragged breath and then refocused on the girl. "I know you are lonely." He moved from the piano curve to the end of the keyboard and stood before her. "I know you wish to return; but for now, you must stay." **_If you leave, your eyes will haunt me until I die of grief._**

"Why? The only company is you."

"Is that so bad, little one?" He leaned forward and wiped the tear from her cheek.

She stood from the bench and gathered as much of her dignity as her five feet and one inch would allow. "It wouldn't be if you actually spoke at meals or during our walks. It wouldn't hurt you to exhibit a sense of humor." **_Honesty. How refreshing._**

The king conjured a crystal and spun it in his hands. "If that is what you would like, then I'll do my best." He put on his best I'm-out-to-get-you smile. "Are you sure you want me to explore my secret jester?"

"When I said 'sense of humor,' I meant your ability to use verbal banter and conversation and not be affronted when I exercise mine … At least, Henson told the truth about your pranking tendencies. Honestly, I feel cheated that you told Henson so many stories. I've only gotten one out of you in a week. I've told you, at least, one story each time we've had a meal or an excursion, but you never respond with your own."

"If that is what is required, then be assured that at dinner tonight I will respond in kind." Her eyes widened, and the King stifled a chuckle as he threw the crystal at her.

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_Yeah, last time I went exploring, things ended okay. The middle was just a bit scary and weird … I will NEVER get used to his crystal tossing tendencies. Next time he produces one, I'm going to make sure I tell him that I'd rather walk. I hate the disoriented feeling of being poofed from one place to another. It was rather disappointing to be standing at a grand piano one moment and sitting on my bed the next._

She wandered down the main corridor, running her hand across every door as she passed. Surely, one would open before she reached the edge of the "suggested" boundaries.

The last door swung open soundlessly at her touch and a great rush of dusty air assailed her nose. _The library!_

:":":":":":":":":":":":":":":":":":":":":":":

She perused tomes for nearly two hours before she found a book entitled "Inter-world Traveling: The Possibility of Holes Between Above and Below." _Bingo!_

The girl snapped it shut and swept back to her room as quickly as she could. She was about to crack its spine for a good long read when she had a sudden urge. The urge for music is not to be denied. She thrilled at the thought that her inspiration really was returning with her hope.

Once again, she stroked her door open and sought out another room. The ballroom. She had a need to perform some Mozart, and Mozart couldn't be played anywhere but a grand ballroom.

:":":":":":":":":":":":":":":":":":":":":":":

The girl sang "Ach Ich fuhl's" and "the Queen of the Night." It had been too long since she had last used her operatic voice, and she needed a break. _I hope I can still remember Tamino's aria._ She stretched her fingers and began to play. As she played, she allowed the lyrics and scene to play out in her mind's eye:

Tamino clasping the locket, falling in love with the lovely girl pictured.

"This image is enchantingly lovely …

Oh, if only I could find her.

If only she were standing before me.

_Is someone looking for me? I wish someone were looking for me. _

The lights began to dim in the way that heat rises off asphalt on a hot summer day. Her hands were no longer resting on the keys of a piano but on theater seat armrests, though she still played the tune. However, instead of a simple piano accompaniment, the girl heard a full orchestra playing the aria and a tenor of unbelievable vocal beauty spinning the notes of the melody with such skill that she thought she might cry for the beauty of it. She didn't have long to dwell on all this. Her right arm felt strange, like it was rooted to the person next to her. She turned her head and looked at the man.

_Cahill!_ "Help me!"

* * *

Don't kill me! You'll thank me for this later. I swear! There is no disrespect meant to Jim Henson or Brian Froud. If it weren't for them, I wouldn't be able to write this fic. I hope you understand that this representation of them is a bit of a compliment in that I think their imaginations so inspired that their ideas had to be real. If what I just said didn't make sense, know that I love Henson and Fround a respect them a great deal.


	8. Chapter 8: Sareen

To anyone curious as to the title change,  
The previous title seemed a bit bland and really only fit the story as I originally intended it to be, a two chapter flick. The new title fits the overall feel of the story and finds its basis in chapter seven.

I feel the need to give a quick thought map. Each character has a specific thought font. _The Girl. __**Jareth. **__Sareen_. Cahill.

* * *

Jareth's lip curled. "The boundaries have been breached." He rose from his throne and began to pace. The connection was too weak for someone to pass between worlds, but it was only a matter of time before the breach was completed and crossed. "And, when he crosses, I'll be ready."

The king strode to the window and stood on its ledge. **_I won't lose this time_**_,_ he thought as he fell head first out of the tower and spread his wings.

:":":":":":":":":

Cahill jumped out of his seat. "Woah! What just happened?"

The orchestra halted. The singer stopped mid-note. All eyes turned to the visibly shaken man standing in the middle of the orchestra seating. Cahill didn't have time to be embarrassed by his outburst. He began climbing over the other operagoers and ran down the aisle.

Jareth gained altitude as he circled his domain. As he flew ever higher, he thought about the girl. **_The girl. What to do about her… She seems so lost. I had hoped being in the Labyrinth would augment her singing, but each day she comes out of the ball room with head bowed low. She should have discovered her power by now…if I wasn't mistaken about it. _**

Jareth banished the girl from his mind, and tried to become completely blank; but, alas, he could not be a blank. He could not lose himself to the mechanics of flight. Instead, the vast atmosphere of his mind brought back a long banished memory.

.

.

.

Sareen heard the announcement. She closed her eyes to collect her thoughts and walked from her study to the castle entrance.

"Goblin King." She dropped into a deep curtsy. "Thank you for coming." He was standing just inside the still open oaken doors and was backlit by the last tendrils of the sunset. His pale hair caught the glow of the sun and shone like a golden crown. The Goblin King wore no royal diadem, but the effect was no less stunning. The king thought he just heard the approaching woman's breath hitch.

"Where is King Tyven? It is customary for the hosting king to welcome his guests." King Jareth laced his voice purposely with a hint of aggravation but made sure that he still sounded courtly and mannered.

"Indeed, sire. However, my lord, the King, is indisposed. So much so, that even I am not permitted access to his study." She continued her journey over the plush, indigo carpet with the grace of a princess, passing glittering suits of armor and bright tapestries.

"Truly serious if a man refuses a beautiful woman's company," he enjoined suavely. The Goblin King noted the thin line the woman's mouth was tracing across her delicate face. **_Obviously, she doesn't take compliments well._** He also could not help noticing her shining mane of raven hair, her sparking green eyes, or her noble carriage. Everything about this woman said cultured, controlled, and queenly. That she was not queen was obvious, as a queen would never be the first to receive a visiting monarch.

Sareen did her best to ignore his comment outwardly, but inwardly she fumed. _What a pig! As if I am nothing more than a toy._ "King Tyven has requested me to begin the preliminary negotiations for peace."

"As pleasant as that would be, I am not in the habit of conversing with women over politics."

_Of all the arrogant…Breathe. _"My good king, I see that it is necessary to inform you of my station." Sareen's smile managed to get thinner. "I am Princess Sareen Wilhelmina, Duchess of Moreane and Chief Counselor to his majesty. Now, may we proceed?"

"The Goblin King quirked his eyebrow and inclined his head. "Very well." **_I think I may like this Princess Sareen. I shall have to get to know her during my stay. I wonder what Tyven's wife thinks of his "Chief Counselor."_**

The pair walked down the corridor and halted before a large mahogany door emblazoned with the sigil of the Kingdom of Pheydrian, a great tree with a sword lodged in its center. Sareen lifted an elegant, pale hand to the tree and traced a precise pattern across its branches in deft swirls. The door swung open on silent hinges, and the princess entered without a backward glance at the king.

Jareth took a swift, appraising glance at the throne room. The same indigo carpet from the corridor ran from the door to the throne at the far end of hall. On either side of the carpet, stark white marble veined with silver spread to the pillared walls. Two statues stood on either side of the door they had just entered, presumably the likeness of Tyven's only royal predecessors, a reminder of the lonely curse of royalty's long life. The only other decoration in the room was the tree-sword standard hanging over the throne. The tree was of molded silver with ivory leaves, the sword's blade was also of ivory and its hilt of gold. The Goblin King was somewhat surprised by the beautiful simplicity of the room. It fairly reeked with elegant power and restraint. **_Good. Careful spending on their part means a better deal for me._**

Sareen was leading Jareth up the long carpet to a table draped in a silver cloth. He could see the parchment, books, and quills prepared for his perusal, but he was more involved in studying the woman walking in front of him. True, it was bad form of her to not walk beside a monarch, but he ceded the point because he knew he had nettled her in assuming she was less than a princess. Her back was poker straight, and her long hair swayed gently behind her. The ends of the ribbons entwined in the braid that held her hair partially back caught a cross breeze from an open window and danced just above her shoulder. The slight swishing of her dark, maroon skirts was the only sound in the silent hall.

He was still contemplating the wind on her ribbons when Sareen suddenly whipped around. "If you would, Sire, we have many items to address, and I'm sure you have your own questions and addendum's to contribute to the process." The Goblin King had not even realized that she had reached the table until she spoke. His eyes went to hers and then gazed at the crisp scrolls and maps before him. **_I hope she didn't notice my mind wandering._** "Yes, Princess. By all means, let us get to the point."

The two royals spoke for three hours, at least, before reaching the final decision in the treaty.

"Your majesty, I believe we have made enough progress for this first meeting. If you will excuse me, I find I am prepared to retire and allow King Tyven to take care of this last matter. It pleases him to be able to say he had a hand in the final decisions." She was businesslike, but a faint hint of humor leaked into her voice upon mention of her sovereign.

"Does your king often suffer illnesses, then?" Jareth was nonplussed and more than a bit annoyed.

"No, my good king, you mistake me," Sareen enjoined with a raised hand. "King Tyven is rarely ill, and it is a serious malady that keeps him from being present. I only meant that he likes to have a part in any decision that has his seal of approval on it. All decisions of note must be approved by his majesty personally, either through his quick perusal or his direct input."

"I see. And, how often does your king _require your services_?" He was still the picture of manners, but Sareen did not like his tone of voice. She felt…uncomfortable with what his low timbre was insinuating.

"I am often called to his study, but you mistake why, my lord. If you recall, sire, you have been in counsel with the Chief Counselor of Pheydrian." She punctuated the last words with quiet force.

"I do recall, my lady. And, if you are what you say in _more_ _than word_, why should you leave this last detail to the king? Surely, he can peruse the documents on his own time or directly with me."

_He is challenging me! How dare he make such insinuations and then challenge my authority AND that of the KING! Calm. I must keep calm._"Goblin King," her face was stony and revealed none of her anger, "If you would like to conclude the matter this evening, I'm afraid you will be sorely disappointed. We can discuss this final point and even settle it to our mutual satisfaction, but King Tyven will still present his own plans, you will have to hash it all out with him again, and I will have to sit in on the proceedings."

"I see. Very well. There is one thing that I would like to apprise you of, however." The corner of his mouth quirked a bit.

"And, what is that, your majesty," she asked as she began to straighten maps and parchment.

"When the new boundaries are drawn tomorrow, I fully intend to take some of the most fertile land."

"As expected, sire. We have been informed as to the need for good farming land in the Goblin Realm."

The king leaned over the table toward the princess. "I want Moreane," he whispered with a fiendish smile in his eyes.

_What!_ "You can't have it," she leveled at him with all the deadly ice she had trained herself to possess.

He laughed. "And, just why not, pray tell? It borders my kingdom and is what I came to the table asking for in the first place." **_Her eyes! Green fire and fury!_** The king was taken with those livid, angry pools.

"I know full well what your request were originally, Goblin King," Sareen spat. "Moreane was not on the list. Fertile land, yes; but not a full duchy!"

"Why, Sareen, do you not approve of my good taste in land and my economy in choosing a territory so distant to the center of your kingdom and so close to mine?"

He was edging around the table. Sareen didn't care. She was clutching a scroll with both hands and having a hard time not ripping it to shreds.

_Sareen?!_ "You mistake me again, sire. You have excellent taste in land, but that land is beyond the direct control of King Tyven. It is under _my_ control, and I will not surrender it…even if doing so will ensure your armies will come to our aide."

Sareen slowly lowered the scroll onto the table and moved to walk past the king and down the throne room. Jareth grabbed her wrist as she swept by him and held it gently but firmly. "I have not dismissed you, _Princess."_

"Nor did I ask your permission, Goblin King." She tugged on her wrist, but he still held it.

Jareth leaned over her. "I always get what I want, my lady," he whispered into her ear.

"That's rather droll, Goblin King… because So. Do. I." With that, she wrenched her wrist free and retreated down the long carpet.

"Upon the completion of this treaty, an ambassador must be sent to my court. Without Moreane to rule, you will be in need of something to do," he called tauntingly to her back.

"I will not be leaving my country, nor will I be losing my ancestral home, sire." She was tracing the patterns upon the door. Just as it swung inward to permit her exit she heard, "I do believe that you will find your expectations disappointed, my dear Sareen. I would start packing if I were you." Low laughter followed her into the corridor. It took all of her self-control to not run to the king's study.

:":":":":":":":":

"Sareen, I thought you would retire directly. That was a very long session." Sareen curtsied to her sovereign. King Tyven looked a bit better, but his fever had left him weak.

"In truth, sire, so did I; but the final requisite the Goblin King has laid down requires immediate attention." She walked across his indigo and ebony study.

"Really? Do have a seat then. What could he have requested that has you in such a dither, little one?"

"Do stop calling me that, cousin." Her tone lost some of its gravity. "He is claiming Moreane as his prize."

The king's eyes widened, but he didn't seem too shocked. "I thought he might do that."

"You what," came the flat reply.

"I knew he was going to ask for land." The king pinched the bridge of his nose. "The only logical place is Moreane."

Sareen was floored. "You're not actually considering this. _Are you?_ I was under the impression that he was going to ask for one of the lesser provinces, Blane, Hendlsene, or Gilsingen."

"I am hoping to convince him to take one of those three, but I am not so foolish as to assume that the _Goblin King_ will be pleased with the prospect of one or all three of those suggestions. He is offering us access to his armies and full armory, as well as safe passage for trade to every kingdom that borders his lands. We only trade with three other kingdoms, and our profits would quadruple within the first year of trade if this treaty is finalized."

"But, he asked for money." Sareen was desperate now and grasping at very thin straws.

"Don't act like an amateur, Sareen. You know as well as I do that 'capitol' is what he wants, and capitol comes in many forms. The only form that does not fade, however, is land. The Goblin King will settle for nothing less."

"So, you're going to give him my home." She slumped her shoulders in defeat and leaned back in her chair in the most unladylike fashion.

"I will do my best to keep Moreane in tact, but you must be prepared." His eyes were sympathetic and told Sareen all she needed to know.

"There's one more thing, Tyven." She twiddled her thumbs in her lap before lifting her head. "He made a suggestion for an ambassador."

"Oh! I see you've finished for the evening, Sareen." The queen in all her sweet splendor poked her head out of a secret passage. A very tall woman, Queen Tabithe was lithe and frail looking. Her countenance bore all the love of a mother and benevolent consort. "What's all this about ambassadors? Who cares? Of course, we'll send an ambassador."

"What my wife says is true, Sareen. An ambassador will be sent, and his suggestion won't make much difference to me besides being an extra honor to help wheedle the poor soul into going to the Goblin Kingdom." Tyven was obviously ready for a laugh, but Sareen wasn't ready to give him one.

"He chose me, Ty," she intoned softly.

"What would possess a visiting monarch to encroach upon my authority by claiming _my chief counselor_ for his court?" _Finally, Tyven grasps the situation_.

"I don't know, cousin; but he did mention my having less to do with Moreane out of my hands."

"Moreane?" Tabithe cast a puzzled look on her husband.

"Jareth wants Moreane as his treaty prize," Sareen explained.

"It seems he wants more than just land as his prize." Tyven sighed heavily, and his eyes took on a knowing glint.

"Why not give him what he wants, dear?"

Both king and princess stared at the queen in shock.

"Honestly, the two of you. Stop and consider the benefits of Sareen going to the Goblin court. She is the most intelligent of your staff. Sareen, you can easily keep and eye on Jareth and all his maneuvers and keep us informed. You can also work your way into his counsel and make Phedrian-favorable suggestions. And, don't forget that you will have direct access to Moreane this way." She paused for breath to allow all this to sink in with Tyven and Sareen. "Tyven, I suggest that you capitulate to these requisites, but make the addendum that Sareen will still be the ruler of her duchy, though it belongs to the king."

"That could work."

"Leave Pheydrian? Become a spy? Be placed under the rule of that insolent pig?" Sareen had lost all patience and began to pace.

"Technically, you won't be leaving Pheydrian if you still rule your duchy," Tyven inserted. "Moreane becomes a sort of nonentity that owes its profits to the Goblin Kingdom. It could symbolize the treaty, as it will be ruled by a Pheydrian noble and owned by the Goblin crown."

The look in her cousin's eyes told Sareen everything. She was now an official member of the Goblin King's court. Jareth had won… She should "start packing."

The Goblin King sat in his assigned rooms in Pheydrian as he stared into the crystal he was holding. Something greatly amused him, and he let a self-satisfied chuckle escape before he popped the little bubble in his hand.

.

.

.

Jareth brought his mind back to the present and pulled his wings in for a final dive. He transformed and landed in a single, graceful maneuver. **_It won't do to meet the boy as a fowl. _**He brushed a stray feather from his black cloak and waited.

:":":":":":":":":

Cahill was slowly getting over having the girl's ghost appear to him the night before. He was also coming to grips with the idea that he was dealing with the _actual_ Goblin King or, at least, something very close. The Underground. Was Henson telling the whole truth? If so, then I should be able to go below and run the Labyrinth for the girl's freedom. I think I'm on the right track as to how to get there.

Cahill continued to muse as he walked onto a local college campus. He had heard that the jazz groups here were incomparable to any others. He was sure the girl would have enjoyed a performance, so he walked into the fine arts building and pricked his ears up to catch any strains that might be floating around. He was totally unprepared for the audio assault. Opera arias from one closed door, Broadway from another. Funk, blues, Chopin, Messiaen, Cage, Debussy filtered through the walls and into the hallway. Cahill Brahms was having a hard time thinking clearly with all of the clashing melodies. He rounded the corner at the end of the first hallway and found, to his surprise, that the corridor was relatively silent. Only one sound hummed, the low buzz of a saxophone. He followed the scatting tones to a large set of "sound proof" doors and walked inside. Cahill was at the back of a small, dark recital hall. A jazz band was set up on stage, each player highlighted by his own spot. At the moment, all were playing together as the sax's cadenza had ended. The music rather abruptly ceased, and all the lights went out on stage. Cahill was taken aback because he hadn't felt or heard a cadence and new it wasn't over. After a long pause, a pure note emanated from center stage and a single spot came back up. A solitary singer was highlighted and began to scat with all the freedom and abandon trademark of jazz. A second spot came up on the saxophone, and the two performers wove a tight tapestry of harmony and dissonance around each other.

Cahill closed his eyes as the rest of the band joined in, and he allowed the music to hold sway. Against the backdrop of his eyelids, he barely noticed the lights receding. Must be the spots fading out again. However, the dim lighting abruptly flashed to fully lit. Rehearsal must be over. Time to get moving. Shame. I was starting to enjoy jazz. I'll have to tell the girl when I get her back.

Brahms opened his eyes and immediately closed them again. What he had seen was too unbelievable to be real. He cracked his right eye open slowly and then the left and then widened both in revelation. He was in a very dead-looking forest…"The Labyrinth," he breathed.

"Oh, yes. The Labyrinth. _My _Labyrinth to be precise. Welcome, Mr. Brahms."

Cahill turned to confront the Goblin King.

* * *

Sorry it took so long to get this chapter up. Writer's block and I were having a full out war. My problem was I knew that Cahill had to breach the worlds and I didn't want to go into excessive detail about it or spend anymore time Aboveground than I had to do AND that was leaving the chapter wahahahaay short. So, my imagination breached its own barriers and decided to bring you some material that I was going to save for later and that was supposed to be decidedly different. You weren't supposed to meet Sareen for another two chapters. Jump for joy, a new chapter and new material! Now, I have to go write the extra plot into the outline. Curse you, Imagination, for creating more characters and scenarios!

Incidentally, I never thought about how hard it is to write J/S dialogue. Wow! That was hard for me.


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